Redemption
by Eleora
Summary: When a blind girl enters Hogwarts, the students are prepared to continue life the way they always have However, for Sirius Black and the rest of the Maurauders, this would not be the case...
1. Prologue

Prologue:

She stared silently out the window of her compartment, her forehead creased in thought and pressed against the cold window pane. Her silver eyes were distant—fixated on memories of a time long past—and completely devoid of emotion. A chill shrouded her small figure, matching the occasional shudder that shook her delicate form.

All around her the world rushed by, filled with vivacity and enthusiasm, but inside her small cubicle, life was only a forgotten memory.

For hours she had been slipping deeper into this state of mind as she drew further inside herself to dwell wistfully on memories of her lost life. Her silver eyes seemed dimmer, the luster of her hair fading rapidly the longer she resolved to live only in memory. Yet somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind, a small shred of life remained, lingering and occasionally sparking, sending her away from the brink of despair. With firm resolve, it gently prodded her back to her present circumstances, leaving behind the surprisingly profound knowledge that she still _did_ have something to live for.

Gathering herself, she shook her head slightly, ridding herself of the dazed expression that had covered her face for days. Once more life flooded the cheerless compartment as a heartfelt sigh filled the small room. The girl turned away from the window and leaned back into her chair. The cloud of depression that had settled upon her fragile form for so long twisted into bitter regret. Drawing her legs up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged them. Trembling, she closed her eyes and drew in a shaky breath. A single tear slipped under her stubby black lashes and trailed down her pale face. Angrily, she wiped the offending droplet off her cheek. Crying would not help her, and it certainly would not bring back what she lost.

She had convinced everyone but herself that she was over her "accident," but deep inside she still felt the torturous tremors of pain. Now the memories of _before_ only tore further at wounds still tender. There was no cure for her pain, no hope for her salvation. The healers had tried everything, but even magic couldn't heal the damage.

The ministry tried so hard to keep her from knowing what really happened. Despite their best efforts though, she had heard the real reason for her loss; the truth mingled among the rumors as people whispered and pitied her. She was the helpless victim to them, the lone survivor of one of the worst deatheater attacks yet. They told her _it_ happened because of severe trauma inflicted on that area of her brain—brought on by the shock, no doubt—but she knew the truth. She was no idiot, despite their efforts to turn her into one. She knew the fever that engulfed her night and day for three weeks did not cause this damage. After all, her dreams never lied.

Every time she fell asleep she heard the same cold voice. As if in slow motion, she would again see the purple and red streams of light arcing toward her. Forced every night to revisit the scene of her terror and feel over and over again the burning wave of emptiness sear through her. Even with the Dreamless Sleep potion prescribed by the Healers she could not escape her nightmares.

They told her amnesia was common after going through such a traumatizing illness. They told her she might gradually start remembering things, but not to panic if she didn't. She wished she couldn't remember, perhaps it would not hurt so much. Even if she could only remember snippets, she knew _they_ had been lying to her.

Had they really thought she was that dumb? Were they really that afraid to tell her they had tried to wipe her memory like a muggle that they stooped so low as to blame a non-existent illness? She deserved to know, deserved for them to tell her the truth. She was tired of being lied to.

She stared out the window again, a blank expression on her face as the tears threatened to flow again. The least they could have done was to tell her the truth; about her parents, her "sickness", the attack. They switched her from her former school in America and were now sending her to Hogwarts; with the excuse that there would be too many memories of _before_ if she stayed. Hah. Did the ministry really think she was that dense? She knew the real reason behind her transfer was the fear that Voldemort would finish what he started.

She might complete the job for him and end her miserable existence, but one thing held her back. It was same reason that kept her from succumbing to the curse and the dark days that followed. She was simply too proud to die. To kill herself was to acknowledge her cowardice. Not only was the tattered remains of her pride at stake, she also had no intention of aiding the Monster that ruined her life.. She had not survived all the agony and torture to simply give into her pain. Alone in the world, friendless and scarred, she had every reason to simply succumb to her fate and die as she should have. Instead she drifted on in empty, meaningless existence and waited. For what, she did not know, and quite frankly she did not care.

So she sat in her lonely compartment, burdened with the knowledge that she would never again watch clouds float lazily across a peaceful blue sky, or gaze at the reflection of the moon on a lake. Eaven Farraday may have escaped death, but in doing so she lost her family, her childhood and her sight. She lost everything, and because of that she had everything to live for.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

_Fear…the slam of a door…A pulsing, throbbing filling her head, clouding her mind… hoarse screams… "Eaven!"… crimson stains on white…spinning, falling— a waltz with death…_

The images flashed through her mind, frightening and intense. Eaven moaned, her brow creased in pain as she tossed back and forth. Tears leaked from under her lashes, silently streaming down her cheeks. A sharp cry wrenched its way out of her trembling mouth as she flung her arms out and crashed to the ground.

Suddenly silent, she curled up where she was lying on the compartment floor, drawing her knees protectively to her chest. Tears streamed freely down her face as she huddled on the dirty carpet. Eaven heard the compartment door slide open, heard them whisper in an accent foreign to her ears, not understanding their words through the haze of her grief. She remained curled on the ground when the rustle of robes announced the strangers' presences. Resolutely, she ignored the strange, musky scent wafting through the compartment and tantalizing her senses. The slight pressure on her shoulder turned into vigorous shaking as she began to hyperventilate. She wondered dizzily where all the light had gone. It was so cold and dark. So dark…She had always been afraid of the dark—and this time there was no light, only the all-consuming blackness. She wondered idly in the last moments of consciousness if there ever had been light, or had it always been so dark? No light…

_Her heart pounded wildly. Racing through the darkness, she could hear a door slam…Beat…Beat…one, two, three, spin… fireworks in the house; Sean would be in trouble… arcs of beautiful, terrible light…_

And then there was only the black- her friend, the darkness. Her brow scrunched in concentration; that wasn't right, she had always hated the dark… But now it was her friend. Why was it so dark? Was it night? Why wasn't the bathroom light on? Something wasn't right—something had changed. And then she felt it.

Eaven gasped and reeled as the weight of memory crashed down on her. The flood of images, hurt, fear swept her away, drowning her – then she heard the voice. Light flooded the blackness. Tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, Eaven lurched toward the soft rays. Reach! Catch the rainbow and find the happy ending. Her hand grasped the beam, and there was peace.

Centuries passed, or only a few seconds. Time held no meaning in the black. With excruciating slowness her hearing returned. "Found … she couldn't brea…floor… unconscious…" The words were distorted, but to her starving ears they sang like the muggle angels.

"Thank you, Ms. Evans. Your help was invaluable." His voice sounded like warm cinnamon. She wondered what he looked like – strong and brown, like whole cinnamon or soft and powdery the way cinnamon was when ground. Footsteps echoed through the room that smelled like her Mom's favorite dishsoap. A door closed softly. Eaven flinched and for a brief second remembered another door closing.

"Ms. Farraday," the cinnamon voice spoke softly, "Ms. Farraday—" Cinnamon spoke with increasing concern. "Can you hear me?"

Her mouth twitched. Vocal chords throbbed from disuse. A thin, creaky moan emitted from a mouth as dry as a desert. Carefully whetting her lips, she tried again. "Yes." Her voice sounded as broken and scratched as an old crone—nothing at all like Cinnamon's warmth.

A relieved sigh, and then he continued, "My name is Headmaster Dumbledore. Do you remember anything about Hogwarts?" his voice was surprisingly kind, but his name contrasted sharply with his voice… Her thoughts began drifting again until she brought herself back to the present with uncharacteristic sharpness.

"Yes." Scratchy, ugly, creaky voice—Eaven despised it. "Its—a school." She began to cough, painful hacks that tore her throat. An arm wrapped around her shoulders and helped her sit up, then cool, fresh water spilled down her burning throat. She thanked Cinnamon—no, Dumbledore, and finished her thought. "A school I need to go to… but that's—all I know." She supplied hesitantly.

Eaven could hear the faint smile in Cinn-Dumbledore's voice—"Well, I had better tell you some more, then…"

**Right, so its a little short, but if I merged the next chapter with this one, it would be too long... So, tell me your thoughts, constructive critisism, etc... : )**


	3. Chapter 2

Hogwarts, Eaven decided, was a wonderful place. The black-haired girl was currently sitting outside of Dumbledore's office, waiting for an escort to take her to her new home—Ravenclaw. The Headmaster had explained the different Houses and basic courses offered at Hogwarts, including a mention of Quidditch and other electives. Eaven was surprised she still remembered all he had said – Hogwarts itself was just too distracting. The whole castle reeked of magic. To her, it was a most glorious feeling. The very walls seemed to sing, infused as they were with the bright hum of magic. Sitting here, leaning against this wall, she felt alive for the first time in months.

The sound of footsteps walking down the corridor startled her out of her revere, though she gave no sign of it. The footsteps stopped next to Eaven. "Eaven Farraday?" taking her curt nod as a yes, the student continued, "I'm Marissa Hedgeworth. Headmaster Dumbledore requested that I lead you to our common room." She finished with a terse "This way, please."

Rising swiftly to her feet, Eaven grasped her cane and carefully found her way to where Marissa stood, and then the two students were off down the narrow corridor.

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Eaven was sick and tired of all the whispers. In a world completely deprived of visual sensation, sound and the ability to hear were immensely important. At the moment, though, Eaven wished she were deaf. The matter of the constant whispering was not helped by the fact that Eaven's hearing had sharpened remarkably over the course of her blindness, thus allowing her to hear even the most quiet comment. Didn't the students of Hogwarts, with their stuffy British accents and words, have anything better to do than talk about her? Why in Merlin's beard couldn't they just leave her alone and let her sink into vague anonymity or better yet—invisibility?

Releasing a growl of frustration, Eaven glared fiercely in the general direction of the latest perpetrators and slammed her book shut. Gripping the binding tightly, she absently caressed the Braille titling before shoving it into her bag. Hastily gathering the rest of her books, parchment and pens (much more convenient than quills – Muggles were quite smart at times), she thrust them with violently next to the book. Then, straightening her skirt and robe, she stalked out of the common room with as much dignity as she could muster.

Eaven was rather thankful classes did not start until tomorrow. She had used the weekend to accustom herself to her new surroundings as much as possible, so that now she was able to walk from 'her' couch to the stairs or Ravenclaw entrance without much trouble. Most of the students would call out a warning if she were about to run into something, but on the whole they were content to watch and whisper, leaving Eaven to find her way. The arrangement agreed perfectly with the raven-haired girl, but she did wish they would stop talking about her.

Stopping just outside the Ravenclaw common room, Eaven fished around in the inside-pocket of her robes for a bit, and then triumphantly pulled out a large, rather wrinkled sheet of parchment. She patted the robe pocket absently, fondly wishing the inventor of the Ever-Empty-Pocket spell eternal happiness and prosperity. Magic was quite lovely, and rather useful for all sorts of things. She could go on all afternoon just thinking about all the possibilities and basking in the brilliant symphony that was Hogwarts, but as the somewhat quirky girl reminded herself, she really had to head toward the library. Consulting the roughly-drawn Braille map of Hogwarts that she had found tucked into her trunk; she took a deep breath and started down the hall.

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She was lost. Lost in a strange, most-likely haunted castle – but she didn't care. The only thing that mattered right now was escaping. Tears ran freely down pale, sunken cheeks as she stumbled down yet another endless corridor, weaving to and fro like a drunken muggle sailor. Unseen obstacles tripped her, random walls sprang out of nowhere, but still she ran on. Finding her way to what felt like a staircase, Eaven lurched up the stairs, climbing endlessly. Her muscles burned with exertion, but the physical pain merely spurred her on recklessly. Finally reaching the top of the stairwell, she slumped against the wall while her hands searched for a door handle. Cold metal met her hands and she pulled downward. The door swung slowly in direct defiance of the torrent of wind that rushed by. Eaven clung to the door, shivering slightly at the chillness of the wind.

Edging out slowly, she discovered a balcony of some sort and sank gracefully onto the cold cement near the doorway. Her mind raced back to those few words that had had such an impact on her this morning. Like a broken record they played over and over again in her mind. _"You're nothing,"_ they whispered, _"not fit to survive. Only half a human now aren't you, Farraday? Not so sure of ourselves anymore, eh? I don't see why He couldn't just finish you off while the chance was there – he took care of the rest of your family, didn't he? Who was it – Sean? I heard he got it pretty bad before they killed him. They say he begged to join them, groveling at their feet for his own pathetic life."_ She hadn't even known who he was, and still he had tormented her. The library was meant to be a haven for her, as it had always been back home – why did everything she loved have to be destroyed?

The sudden creak of a door interrupted her thoughts as she realized she was no longer alone.

Seconds ticked by like centuries, agonizing in their slowness. Finally, a rustle of fabric as the stranger stepped carefully over to where Eaven sat. A few tears still trickled down her face and an occasional sniff escaped, but she made no move to hide it. The young Ravenclaw tensed slightly as the whisper of cloth sliding against stone filled her ears, relaxing only when she realized the intruder had sat down—somewhere near her from the level of noise.

The same enticing muskiness she had first noticed on the Hogwarts Express wafted past her on the chilly September breeze. Unconsciously, Eaven inhaled deeply, welcoming the scent as her previous worries and the reason for the last few hours' desperate escape flitted out of memory. Guiltily checking her actions immediately afterward, the raven-haired girl was surprised when no derogatory or teasing remark was directed her way. At that, a faint smiled hovered about her small, thin mouth, fading gradually as her thoughts drifted towards people and friendships that existed now only in memory. She became so deeply absorbed that she soon forgot all about her unknown companion until a deep sigh startled her out of her revere.

"How do you do it?" His voice was quiet, but filled with a surprising amount of anger and—was that pain? She tilted her head to the side, much like a puppy or bird.

"Pardon?" she cringed at the cracked sound of her voice. Certainly no soothing melody could be found there. At best only a screeching whine, she mused.

"How do you stand everything? The whispers, the mockery, the—the blindness!" His voice was raised in astonished irritation.

Slightly miffed, she answered tersely," The same way anyone else would." Eaven couldn't believe his nerve. First of all, he was unspeakably rude in not even introducing himself – he obviously knew who she was—heck, everyone in the whole _bloody English_ school did—and he still neglected to provide the same courtesy to her. On top of that enormous offense, the first thing he said to her wasn't something like _"terrible weather, wot wot?"_ but instead appeared to be a direct assault on her emotions.

"Bloody helpful, aren't you?" apparently he was as thick as his manners implied; "I didn't ask if you solved your problems like anyone else, I asked how _you_ went about it."

As if he had a right to be annoyed with _her!_ It wasn't like she had presumed to shove her nose into _his_ highly personal affairs. Controlling the rush of irritation that threatened to spill into outright hexing, Eaven took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "Did it ever occur to you that I might not be inclined to talk to you when you haven't even taken the time to _introduce yourself_?"

A disgusted snort met her words, "Not really." He stood up, apparently considering her a waste of his _oh so important_ time. The doorknob squeaked as he pulled it and opened the door. Seconds passed, and then minutes as the Nuisance With No Name stood in the doorway. Eaven raised an eyebrow, feeling amused for the first time since he had spoken. After another moment, a low growl emitted from the strange wizard, and, as Eaven snickered he _stalked _back to his previous seat. The two students sat for a while; one clearly fidgeting in resentful silence while the other leaned serenely against the wall.

Minutes passed before he dared speak, and then only with forced politeness and respect, "I'm Padfoot." Eaven snickered again, what sort of lunatic would name their child _Padfoot_?

"Padfoot?" she managed to choke out.

Clearly irritated at her response—no doubt expecting her to be _impressed_ by his willingness to right his previous rudeness—he snapped, "Yes, Padfoot."

She raised her eyebrows; touchy, this one.

Evidently certain his introduction was sufficient to mend all wrongs _and_ make them the best of friends, Padfoot continued, "You still haven't answered my question."

Her chapped lips clamped tightly into a thin line. Like heck she was going to answer him. If _Padfoot_ wanted her to talk to him, he would just have to learn to be respectful on his own. There were some boundaries that people just didn't cross with her, and he had definitely crossed more than one today.

"Are you ignoring me?" he actually had the nerve to sound surprised! As if she would have done anything _but_ ignore him after all he had done to provoke her.

"I'm trying to for your sake, but if you don't leave or at least shut up, I'm afraid you're going to find out just how nice being ignored is, at least in comparison…" she trailed off into heated silence. Were _all_ English this obnoxious? If they were, Eaven could see why the muggles had decided to stage a revolution. Corrupt politicians and excess taxes were much more preferable than Snobbish British Brats.

"Favorite food?" The question was ventured in a surprisingly timid and repentant tone. The sudden image of a begging puppy with large, innocent eyes filled her mind. An indignant sniff banished the faintly-disconcerting vision. No way was he getting off the hook that easily. If Padfoot wanted her to answer him, he'd have to try harder and wait longer.

Finally getting the point, Padfoot rose reluctantly to his feet and slumped past her, his every action filled with exaggerated sulkiness. Pausing at the door, he hesitated as if to ask her something and another wave of that intoxicating muskiness hit her. Surprisingly dizzy all of the sudden; Eaven barely noticed when he closed the door behind him without another word, leaving her with only the swirling September wind for company.

**Thanks for those of you that reviewed-- its rather encouraging to hear feedback, and it helps me to write better. Comments, suggestions, critisims on this chapter? Feel free to review or message me. **


	4. Chapter 3

_TEACHER: Explain Newton's First Law of Motion in your own words. _

CALVIN: Yakka foob mog. Grug pubbawup zink wattoom gazork. Chumble spuzz.

-Bill Waterson

Chapter 3

Murphy's Law—anything that can go wrong, will. It was a doctrine that had defined her life since that fateful day in June—and apparently, it wasn't about to leave her alone.

The day had begun in its usual manner; consisting of waking with a killer headache, the lingering terror of her nightmares, and of course, her constant friend—the darkness. Her situation was hard enough to deal with on a regular day, let alone on the first day she would be using magic since June. And of course, oversleeping and missing breakfast was just an added bonus.

Eaven had fumbled her way through the usual routine of dressing and tending to hygiene, but that was where the familiarity ended. While she had made sure to walk to each of her class rooms over the weekend, in order to gain a small measure of direction, it had been a slow, easy pace. Now the additional pressure of arriving to classes on time made the trip as different from the first time as possible.

Hogwarts itself helped as much as possible; moving staircases to the correct floors for her, giving friendly directions via the suits of armour, and lessening the direct flow of magic in specific corridors to guide her—but even with the extra help, she barely made it to Potions on time. Of course, the mad rush of students on the second floor i had /i hindered her some, especially when a slight brawl between Gryffindors and Ravenclaws broke out. She frowned, scratching a slight itch on her neck—she suspected one of the spells had skimmed her neck—as she approached the classroom door.

Eaven trembled involuntarily as she stepped through the doorway and into the Potions classroom. She was put at ease however, by the feel of the potions supplies themselves. The positively _glowed _with magic; some more than others, and with varying colours, shades, and depths. In the back of her mind, the American witch realized that Hogwarts had once more aided her—lowering the wardings and concentration of magic in the classroom, and making it easier to sense the magical properties of the ingredients.

"Miss Farraday! If you'll just take a seat next to Mr. Cuffe, we can get started. Now then, cauldrons out, potion kits out, and open your _Advanced Potions for the Sixth-year Student_ to page 14."

Eaven carefully made her way to the table, searching semi-frantically for Cuffe's magical signature to guide her to her seat. No such luck. The raven-haired American stood stiffly next to the table—hand brushing the surface—as her cheeks became increasingly warmer from embarrassment.

An intake of breath from her right, then a large hand clamped around her forearm and gently guided her to a chair. "Sorry about that," the warm, masculine voice continued, "Professor Slughorn can be rather, well, absentminded at times. I'm sure he meant no offence," he hastily assured her.

Fighting her initial annoyance—she would have found the chair on her own, eventually—Eaven cast a polite smile in the general direction of the voice. "Thanks." She muttered, still slightly miffed.

"No need for thanks—we Hufflepuffs watch out for our own." Hufflepuffs? Since when was she a Hufflepuff?

"Er—"

"Theodore Cuffe, pleasure to meet you." So the nut had a name—what was he thinking, anyways; her, a Hufflepuff? She certainly didn't act like one, did she?

"Eaven Farraday. Nice meeting you." Vague amusement filtered through her voice. Hufflepuff—imagine that.

A long pause followed—punctuated by Professor Slughorn's welcoming speech. Eaven found her focus slipping as her attention was caught up in the feel of the potions supplies. It was incredible, really—each ingredient had its own personality and feel. On the third shelf to the left, a liquid—it had a much more fluid aura—pulsed with heat and energy, and a sort of wild joy, all mixed together in an incredibly concentrated state: Dragon blood. The cabinet above the Professor's desk contained what could only be Powdered Essence of Pixie, judging from the soft lavender glow and the "images" emitting from it.

"Right, this one should be rather easy. We covered it at the end of last year. If you get the ingredients, I'll ready the cauldron and utensils." Theodore spoke quietly and earnestly—quite a change from the earlier chattering. A rather i nice /i change at that.

Wait—ingredients. Eaven cursed herself for not paying attention earlier. She straightened once more, standing up rather stiffly as she turned towards Theodore. Whatever reputation she could have had as a diligent student—one that actually paid attention in class—was about to fly out the high, dungeon windows.

"Which ingredients am I getting?" she hated herself for the squeak in her voice, the flush that graced her cheeks.

A low chuckle surprised her—perhaps her time with the Hufflepuff would not be as bad as she'd assumed. "Can't expect you to pay attention the first class in Hogwarts, I suppose. Right, we'll trade—I'll get the ingredients, you prepare the rest."

And just like that, Eaven decided she might like Potions after all. Just she could sense the magical properties of the potion supplies, she could also sense when the potion needed a little more tweaking—whether it be that extra stir counterclockwise, or an additional sprinkling of minced betony—making her even better at potions now than she had been in the years before June.

Yes, Potions might not be that bad at all.

* * *

After double Potions with Hufflepuff, Eaven began to make her way to Transfiguration. She was absolutely dreading this class. Her success with Potions would most likely be the only pleasant aspect about today, and the young American was not all that eager to begin what would most likely turn out to be a disaster of epic proportions.

At least it was with the Gryffindors, not Hufflepuff again. Theodore Cuffe might not be as bad as she had originally thought, but her tolerance level had dropped rather severely when he grabbed her arm to "guide her" to a chair, and she had no desire to let her temper loose.

Funny; when she found her schedule with the map earlier this morning, she had assumed class with the Gryffindors would be the most enjoyable. Perhaps she had been mistaken—the noise level alone was sure to cause a splitting headache. Someone had already shouted at her, saying that second period Transfiguration was for Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, not Hufflepuffs. What _was_ it with Hufflepuff today, anyways?

"This year there will be assigned seating. Burke—Melstrome, Roberts—Pettigrew, Mertens—Zimsky, Black—Evans, Lupin—Kingsley, Marshall—Whiteman, Zacharias—Hedgworth, and Farraday—Potter.

Last mentioned meant last desk before the door. She would have to thank the Professor after class. She found her chair with little difficulty and gratefully slumped into it.

"You're not really a Hufflepuff, are you Farraday?" Eaven sighed—not him too.

"No, Potter. I'm a Ravenclaw—see the badge?" A chuckle met her words.

"Yes, I see the badge, but it says you're Hufflepuff."

"Oh." Did someone spell her badge?

"Nice bit of charm work, really." Potter commented, "Better next time if the sleeve lining were changed to yellow, though—Hufflepuff colours, you see."

"You aren't suggesting I charmed my own badge, are you?"

A pointed silence followed.

"I didn't." she said flatly.

"Right."

"Why would I change my badge to Hufflepuff?" Eaven hissed, her voice a menacing whisper, "For that matter, what kind of idiot would even bother to change their badge at all? Gods, are all Brits like this?"

Potter snorted with amusement before answering; "Right, well if you'll hold still, you'll be a Ravenclaw again in a tiff."

A tingle of a spell, "Thanks." Both students turned their attention back to the Professor, one radiating amusement, the other still feeling rather miffed.

"Today we will be reviewing a transfiguration from last year. Mr. Marshall, Ms. Whiteman—if you would please hand each student a fork and a sparrow. You will transfigure your fork into an inkwell, and the sparrow into a goblet."

Eaven felt despair rising. She couldn't sense the fork—which meant she would have to guess what it looked like, and the general direction it was in.

One thing was for sure: Transfiguration just got a lot harder.

* * *

Eaven knew she would not have gotten through Transfiguration if it hadn't been for Potter. He was incredulous at first, when he saw she had done absolutely nothing to change the fork (the sparrow had been easy—it was alive, therefore it had a signature), but once he realized her unique situation he had gone out of his way to help her, even going so far as to place a simple colour charm on the fork to give it a magical aura.

Rather nice of him, really.

Following Transfiguration was lunch, during which the ravenous students of Hogwarts devoured enough food to feed a small country. Or at least they i sounded /i that way. What she wouldn't give for the quiet, auspicious lunches served at the Farraday residence in America.

As Eaven had no more classes after lunch, the rest of the day was spent outside reading, and later just thinking. Hogwarts was quite a lot to absorb in just a few days, not to mention the individual classes.

By the time supper ended, Eaven was tired enough to head straight to the dormitories—and so she did. Without even bothering to undress, the blind girl went straight to her bed. Slipping under the covers, she instantly fell asleep.


End file.
